


Eleven Blocks

by smashleypotato



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smashleypotato/pseuds/smashleypotato
Summary: I've met someone and I swear I'm in love, but I'm two blocks away and you're just like a drug.Lydia had moved on from Stiles, and was happy. She was working on herself and her career and her life, and she didn't need him anymore.So why did she find herself at his doorstep again?





	Eleven Blocks

11 blocks.

The exact route to Stiles’ doorstep replayed itself in her brain as she daydreamed. Straight for 2 blocks past their favorite coffee shop. Turn left on the corner with the cute little boutique where he’d bought her the softest little black cardigan that went with every dress. She glanced over to her closet, looking at it hanging up on the rack closest to her. She wore it so much that she often just threw it on the metal bar as close to the door as she could, knowing she’d be wearing it within the next few days.

“Are you even listening anymore Lydia?” Jackson barked in frustration. She shook herself out of her trance, readjusting her sitting position on her bed. She looked at Jackson and gave a sympathetic look, her lips pursing.

“Of course I am,” she said with bite in her tone, feigning upset that he would even question her. His face showed he didn’t believe her, but he continued rambling on about his presentation he would have to give in his Power, Negotiation, and Conflict Resolution class Monday morning. She let out a silent sigh as she continued the journey in her mind. 6 blocks more before turning right just after that quaint mom and pop Thai restaurant he’d loved so much.

Jackson had come back to Beacon Hills during their last semester of their senior year of high school; just as Lydia had admitted to herself that she was head over heels with someone she’d never in a million years seen herself with. Jackson was the farthest thing from her mind at that time, and it would take her another two and a half years before she would let herself accept his apologies and calls. In the meantime, she was too busy settling into her college experience with her new found love. 

It was only 3 more blocks until reaching Stiles’ building, the red brick stone standing out against the grey and white concrete that surrounded the rest of the block, almost like a warmth radiating from the structure, inviting her in. She remembered the day they’d found his apartment vividly; it was close enough to hers for them to be able to see each other as much as they’d wanted without it being a hassle, but also far enough for her to feel independent like he knew she wanted to, despite the fact that she spent almost every night at his place. 

She also remembered the last night in his room. She remembered the way the comforter on his bed scrunched up towards the pillow, with the corners a little off center. His desk covered in papers and books, pencils and pens used as bookmarks in spots he meant to get back to, and yellow, green, and red sticky notes sticking out of miscellaneous pages as some sort of study method. The room smelled of lavender candle that Lydia had lit earlier that evening, and take out Thai food they had just finished. She had a hard time recalling what even started their argument that night, but she could picture their last moments like a horror movie. The way his face flushed red with anger after she screamed that she didn’t feel it was even worth being with him if they were going to argue over little things constantly; she didn’t have time for this, she had a degree and career to pursue without him getting in the way. The way he flung his arm out, pointing to the door, adding that she could easily leave if she wanted, and the way she stomped out in the heat of the moment, ignoring his regretful calls of her name. The way the chilly air bit at her shoulders and ears after she left without grabbing her favorite red coat from his kitchen, and the way her eyes grew warm and irritated from her tears, her cheeks and nose chapped as she wiped the salty streams from her face almost every few seconds, determined not to let the public see her cry. 

“What do you think?” Jackson asked finally, his arms open waiting for her response with anticipation in his eyes. She gave her best smile, nodding.

“You’re going to do great,” she said softly, nodding. He half smiled, content with the affirmation.

“Wanna grab some coffee?” he asked, reaching for his wallet off her vanity. She hummed an agreement as she stood from her bed, throwing her hair up in a neat top knot on the top of her head as she followed him out of the apartment and down the street to the coffee shop just 9 and a half blocks from Stiles’ place. 

Jackson had tried contacting her again about a month after her break up with Stiles, and she’d been so bitter and stubborn that she felt like it would be like getting back at him if she answered Jackson’s attempts. In her broken state, Jackson had seemed so different from before. He had spent some time in Europe after the whole lizard to werewolf thing had gone down, and he had honed his skill well, becoming well controlled and calm. He told her how he turned to meditation to accomplish this, and how he had found himself in this process, and she couldn’t help but fall back in love with her first love, so drawn to this new and improved person whom she felt could finally love her like she had loved him. 

The beginning of their relationship was like a dream. He was so much more accepting than he was in high school, and she felt she could finally be her true self around him; no more pretending, no more ‘dumbing it down.’ He spoke of his dreams to climbing his way to the top of the business world, self actualization in his future in all aspects of his life. She was excited to be with someone so independent like her, someone who understood the importance of career and professionalism. Stiles had goals and dreams too, but to him, Lydia was more important. He spoke about finding a place to settle down after school, finding a town close to their parents and close to his best friend, Scott, where they could start discussing family and picket fences. And to be honest, often times she’d found it so mundane, especially when at the time her top priority was keeping her 4.0 GPA and hunting for internships in research to get her foot in the door for graduate school. 

As they walked into the coffee shop, she couldn’t help it as her gaze landed on the little table in the back corner of the cozy cafe. Silhouettes of Stiles and Lydia sat in the empty chairs, smiles plastered to their faces. Books, coffee cups, and overpriced cakes and muffins littered the table, their plates and napkins piling up as they spent hours upon hours attempting to study, but mostly conversing and laughing, kisses and affectionate touches scattered throughout the time. 

It was also at this table that they officially dissolved. That day, their little corner was cold and dark, the rainy weather a perfect parallel to their current situation. Stiles had brought a little shoe box of her favorite candles and trinkets she’d left around his place to remind him of her. She brought him all but one of his comfy sweatshirts and hoodies. She remembered the way he asked if this is what she really wanted, because he was definitely having his doubts. He spoke of how much he loved her, and how badly he wanted them to just forget and forgive. Lydia, however, is characteristically stubborn; has been and always will be. She left his belongings on the table, along with a five dollar bill to cover her tab, and walked out without another word. She remembers the way she walked back up to her apartment, exuding strength and independence as she went about her day, determined not to cry.

Two days later, she holed herself up in the corner of her bedroom, wearing nothing but the lacrosse sweatshirt of his she’d kept, and playing the Star Wars movies on her laptop, hearing all his little remarks he’d make when watching the films in her head, as if he was right beside her.

“Your usual?” Jackson asked. She quickly nodded, tearing her eyes away from the table. She left him in line as she went to find a table on the opposite side of the room, sitting in the chair facing away from her old corner.

It had been almost a year since she and Jackson had begun their relationship, and things had been going so smoothly. She was happy, she swore she was. But as of late, she was thinking about those mundane things. About how they would be graduating from undergrad in a year, and how it would only be another four years until they both had their masters, and four years really wasn’t that long. She wondered about the future, after their careers were in comfortable states, and after the schooling and awards and achievements were accomplished. She had tried multiple times to bring it up to Jackson, and he often brushed it off, and when those conversations occurred, she couldn’t help but think about Stiles, and about how he must of felt when she would brush him off.

And she really loved Jackson, she did. But she was starting to realize that her goals weren’t on the top of his list. She’d talk about an opportunity she’d heard about in Boston, and he would say that it sounded like a great opportunity for her, but he already was considering an offer in San Diego that he knew he wanted. There was no compromise involved, Jackson was set in his way. If he was being so kind to think of Lydia, he would bring up that they were looking for a similar position to what she wanted in San Diego with him. Again, Stiles would appear in her mind, and she wondered if he had felt just as discouraged when she would plan out her life as if his didn’t hold as much meaning.

But she promised she loved Jackson. And that she was happy.

They walked back to their apartment after getting their coffee and croissants; the apartment that she’d picked out with Stiles’ help, and that Jackson had moved into after two months of dating (though she felt this was mostly because he was eager to move out the apartment he’d shared with Danny, into her much bigger place). Jackson immediately settled back down at their dining table, pulling out his textbooks and getting back to work. Lydia positioned herself across from him, opening her own books and staring down at the pages. She’d already read through the chapters needed for Monday, and she had planned on skimming through one more time, creating an outline and adding to her notecards. As she looked down at the text, the small black words blurring together, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated. The presence of Stiles stuck in her mind, and she was almost hallucinating that he was sitting beside her, her feet in his lap as they both read in silence, happy to be in each other’s presence. She could almost feel how he would occasionally rub her calves and leave kisses on her nose when she wasn’t looking, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. She closed her eyes as she recalled the times they would get caught up in each other’s kisses, finding their way under the table, their books and pens scattered around them after being thrown to the side. She swallowed hard, shaking her head, determined to stop this nonsense. She stood up from her chair, Jackson not seeming to notice her exasperation, and made her way to her room. She grabbed the chair from her vanity and pulled it into her closet, using it to reach the top shelf. Underneath old sweaters and dresses that she’s packed away in a little box for different occasions, she grabbed Stiles’ old sweatshirt. With a little yelp of disgruntlement, she threw it onto the closet floor, stepping off the chair. She childishly stomped on it twice before finding a large tote to throw it in. For good measure, she stacked a couple of books in the bag on top of the item of clothing, and made her way back into the dining area, standing in front of Jackson. He slowly looked up at her, though he almost seemed to be looking through her. 

“I think I need a change of scenery. I’m going to study at the library.” He nodded, though still seemed distracted, as if he didn’t hear what she said, but also didn’t care. She pursed her lips and made her way out, determination masking her vexation. 

She couldn’t have anything of Stiles’ anymore. She couldn’t keep being reminded of him. She was happy. She was successful. Jackson was successful. They were on the track that she had planned for herself since she was little. There was no way she was letting STILES, of anyone, get in the way of that. Clumsy, awkward, bumbling, gangly Stiles Stilinski would not be the one to make her...mundane and homely. She had ambitions and intentions, and Stiles was not in the blueprints for any of her designs. She was going to give him back his stupid hoodie that she would never admit to wearing at least twice a month, and from there, she was going to feng shui the entire apartment. Move all the furniture, buy new decorations, throw out anything that Stiles may have ruined for her. 

With how quickly she marched, she was already 5 blocks away. The tote bag holding the sweatshirt felt so heavy with emotion, it was beginning to weigh on her, forcing her to slow down as she covered another 2 blocks. Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she pulled the sweatshirt out, holding it up to her cheek as she walked a mile a second, her feet suddenly like wet concrete drying to the sidewalk. It felt like forever before she finally arrived at the building, that familiar feeling of home encompassing her. She stood on the corner, the sweatshirt neatly folded and hugged to her chest, her breath bated as she imagined herself walking up the steps to his door. She suddenly felt speechless. Lydia always knew what to say, but at this moment, she kept playing the idea of Stiles opening the door, and she had no clue what her first remarks would be. She wanted to yell at him, to blame him for ruining her morning, and many mornings in the past, and likely many mornings in the future. But she also wanted to hold him. To feel his arms wrapped around her, and to hear him say it was okay; everything would be okay. 

Before any of these possibilities could even come to fruition, she suddenly spotted Stiles coming down the little stairway out of the building. Her breath caught as she took him in, noticing the way his flannel (of course he still had that stupid red flannel) opened lazily around his torso, the sleeves rolled up slightly, the left one a little higher than the right. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him underneath that flannel, her ear on his chest right at his heart. In slow motion, he made his way down the stairs before turning onto the street towards her. Courage and adrenaline running through her veins, she began to open her mouth to call his name. 

But before she could comprehend the situation, a cute blonde bounced her way out of the building behind him. He turned back to make sure she was there, a smile on his lips, and soon the girl caught up with him, grabbing his forearm as they both began making their way down the street. Lydia froze, her eyes darting around the street to look for an out. Without another thought, she ducked into the alleyway behind his building, ducking behind the splattered, green dumpster, steaming with the smell of stewing garbage. She held her breath as she peeked from behind the dumpster, watching as Stiles passed by, ‘Blondie’ still holding onto his arm. She waited until she could no longer see them before sitting back and relaxing her body against the filthy wall, her eyes closed tight in humiliation. What was she doing? Lydia Martin did not stumble over boys. She always kept her composure. She was always so put together, and would never stoop so low as to avoid an ex and his possible new girlfriend. 

Yet here she was, literally in the trash, hiding from Stiles. She let herself give a quick yelp of frustration, and let go of a few hot tears before taking three deep breaths, regaining her composure. She stood up tall, smoothing out her skirt and making sure all flyaway hairs were in place. With conviction in her step, she left the alleyway and continued to his building, making her way up the stairs and to his doorstep. She placed the sweatshirt down on his welcome mat, noticing how badly the mat needed a good shaking to remove the debris. She couldn’t help but wonder what else in his apartment had accumulated dust since she’d left; what else he may have neglected to clean without Lydia there to do it for him. Shaking those thoughts out of her mind, she stood up straight, her chest slightly puffed out, ready to take on the rest of her life without Stiles ever being an issue again.

She made the walk back to her apartment pretending she wasn’t thinking about him the whole way.

When she returned, Jackson didn’t question why she was already home, or even how her walk was. She questioned if he even noticed her, but stood corrected when he mumbled his hellos, continuing to work. With a slight huff, she made her way into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Her body slumped against the stark white door, her hands grazing the door frame as she fell into the floor, her arms hugging her legs tight to her body. She let her forehead rest in her knees, the coolness of the skin on her legs helping the heat in her head. She was suddenly regretting giving back the sweatshirt, as all she wanted to do was throw it on and lock herself inside her room, ignoring the world for the rest of the day. Instead, she changed back into the silky pajama shorts and tank top she’d worn to bed last night and crawled underneath her covers, burying her face in her pillow as more hot tears escaped against her instruction. She hated feeling emotionally unstable. She just wanted to finally be over him. She’d gotten over many exes in the past, why was Stiles any different? Yeah, he was sweet, and caring, and encouraged and motivated her, and was the only person who truly knew her. But aside from that, she should be over him.

She rolled onto her back, her hands falling onto her face, trying to push her thoughts back. She looked over to her right at the fluffed pillows and still neatly made sheets, where Jackson sleeps. Where Stiles use to sleep. She remembered the nights when Stiles would wake up with her after she’d have a bad banshee dream and wake up screaming. How he would hold her so tight as the voices made her insane, combing his fingers through her hair and lightly whispering to her, asking her to focus on his voice, and reminding her that he was there, and he would always be there. 

Jackson was always annoyed when she’d wake him up, even if she couldn’t help it. He’d tell her she was fine, pat her back, and then roll over, tightening his pillow over his head. She knew he meant well, he just had to be up early. And she did too. They didn’t have the time to stay up all night with supernatural nonsense. Jackson learned to tame his urges, she still needed to work on controlling hers. And she was getting better. Jackson had encouraged her to get into yoga and meditation too. He did mean well. He just wasn’t as comforting. Or as safe.

Her thoughts continued to wrap in circles, creating Venn diagrams and flow charts comparing Stiles and Jackson, until she was suddenly thinking about the supernatural, and her banshee powers, and Scott’s powers, and wondering how Scott was doing, and how Kira was doing, and how much she missed Allison, and her mother, and her dog Prada, and Stiles. And she kept thinking until she wasn’t anymore, and she found herself in a deep, dreamless sleep, one she’d really needed for a while. 

A couple hours later, she was awoken by an agitated Jackson, who began implying her laziness before reminding her of a party they were to attend tonight, in about an hour. Annoyed, and trying her best to block Jackson out, she threw on some music, trying to draw herself from her from her sleep. It didn’t take her long to get dressed (she always planned her outfits in advance) and to style her strawberry blonde hair into a purposefully messy but very put together side braid. 

“You look great,” he said nonchalantly as they made their way a couple blocks down the street to the house party of one of Jackson’s friends. They were walking away from Stiles’ apartment, and she couldn’t help but count the blocks as they went. 

“Thanks, I know,” she said, tease in her tone. Jackson began to orient her to the party before they arrived, letting her know who all she should care about, and who they needed to mingle with, and who to avoid. She was only half listening, knowing he was mostly telling her to reiterate it to himself. She knew she would be glued to his hip anyway, posing as his ‘trophy wife’ and his ‘yes man.’ Sometimes, she felt that was the only thing he thought she was good for. She knew she loved him. And she knew he loved her. But sometimes she had her doubts.

She never had doubts with Stiles.

Once they arrived at the party, they were officially 14 blocks from Stiles’ place. The party was littered with frat boys and businessmen, all drinking beers while trying to look impressive to their friends, and sexy for the ladies at the same time. Jackson was no different from them, quickly making his way into the flow, a Corona in his hand, his other hand resting on Lydia’s hip protectively. She fake smiled and nodded at about 7 different guys’ lame office stories before she excused herself, adding that she needed to visit the powder room. She couldn’t help the little eye roll that escaped as she walked down the hall of the large apartment to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror for a while, almost not recognizing the girl looking back at her. On the outside, she was the old Lydia. The one who tried her best to keep perfect appearances. The one who wouldn’t let her feeling show. Hell, she was even with the old boyfriend who only liked her because she was hot, and she made him look hot.

But on the inside, she was a different Lydia. She was the Lydia who stayed up late in sweatpants and her favorite hoodie of Stiles’, drinking a beer and laughing as Stiles and Scott jokingly fought, Kira and Malia adding in their own two cents whenever they felt they wanted. They’d watch dumb movies and play stupid board games and reminisce on their crime fighting days. She had scars and flaws, but they were what made her, what defined her. She was brilliant, and not afraid to prove it, and her friend’s accepted it, loved her for it. She wouldn’t be a housewife, or a dumb bimbo trying to get the jock. She was a new Lydia. And the Lydia looking back at her in the mirror wasn’t her.

A knock on the door awoke her from her revelation.

“Lydia?” Jackson called out, the door handle jiggling. She sighed and opened the door, letting Jackson in. “What are you doing? Did you fall in? You’ve been in here forever.” She leaned against the counter as she started to undo her braid, which was giving her a headache from the bobby pins. 

“I just needed a break from all the fake.” Jackson’s brow furrowed as he looked at her.

“What are you talking about?” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“This is just ridiculous! I mean, you basically make flashcards for these parties!”

“It’s just important that I impress these people. They’re possible contacts, employers, co-workers. I figured you out of anyone would understand that.”

“Yeah, I do, but all we ever do is network for your career. Do you even know what my goals are?” Jackson’s face flashed with anger, and Lydia could’ve sworn she saw his eyes turn bright blue before he took a deep breath in, calming himself.

“Look, let’s just go back out there, save face, and then we can talk about this at home.” She shook her head.

“You can go back out there. I’m leaving.” She pushed past him, not surprised that he didn’t even try to stop her. She bolted from the party, finding herself exhilarated as she ran down the block, her heels clicking on the pavement, her hair flowing in the wind. She likely looked ridiculous; she was in a mini skirt and kitten heels for god’s sake, and she was literally sprinting down the sidewalk, dodging through confused bystanders. She let out a laugh, feeling free for the first time in a year. Before she even realized it, she was 4 blocks away from Stiles’ apartment, and she was beginning to experience the familiar tightness in her chest (she swore it wasn’t just from the running). She refused to let herself think about it. It had been so long since she’d felt so...unbound. It was almost childlike. She was free, revitalized, rejuvenated. She was going to let her feet and her heart take her wherever they pleased.

She slowed her sprint to a jog, taking in the scent of that little Thai restaurant, ghosts of Lydia and Stiles walking in and out haunting the entrance. She turned right, her breath heavy, but her mind numb. She almost felt like she could finish this run with her eyes closed, it was so familiar. She passed the post office, and pizza joint they’d ordered delivery from so many times, and the old building with the bright yellow mailbox on the front. As she approached the red brick building, she slowed her pace back down to a walk. She tried steadying her breathing as she walked up the stairs. 

Breath in through her nose, out through her mouth. 

She stood in front of his door. 

In through her nose. 

She noticed the sweatshirt was not waiting outside. 

Out through her mouth. 

She held up her hand into a little fist, hovering over the white door.

In through her nose.

She held her breath for a moment. She almost thought about what she was going to do. She wanted to plan her next words. She wanted to know exactly what was going to happen. But she didn’t. And she wouldn’t until she just went for it. She knocked on his door.

Out through her mouth. 

It was only moments until he opened his door, but to Lydia, it felt like hours. She debated walking away, but she forced herself to stay, and not to think.

Stiles opened the door, surprise evident in his face as he looked at her.

“Lydia?” he said, his voice like coming up for air to Lydia. She smiled and nodded, her breath still heavy from the running and the adrenaline. 

“Stiles,” she sighed, almost inaudibly. His face showed concerned as he took in her appearance. Her skirt was a bit lopsided, hiked up a little bit on the left. Her hair was tangled and frizzy from running, her curls starting to turn into uneven waves. Her chest rose up and down quickly as she continued trying to regain her usual respiratory rate. She looked like she had been running for her life...which she had been. But not in the way Stiles likely saw it. He stepped towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Are you hurt? You look like you just ran a marathon.” She shook her head, trying to find the words to say, but his hands on her skin was driving her crazy. He felt so warm, and he was so close. 

“Stiles,” she said again, a bit louder. He looked behind his shoulder quickly before looking back at Lydia.

“Is this something supernatural? Scott’s here, we can talk to him.” She laughed a bit, hearing that Scott was here. Of course he was. This was exactly what she missed. Without missing a beat, Scott appeared behind Stiles, ready to pounce if needed. Him and his werewolf hearing.

“Lydia?” Scott said, the same concerning arising in his voice. She wanted to be annoyed that they weren’t giving her a second to regain herself and explain herself, but she was just too happy to see them.

“Hi Scott,” she said, her voice slowly returning. 

“Lydia, what’s going on? Did you find a body?” Stiles asked quickly, his focus entirely on her. Like it always used to be. Like he said it always would be.

“Stiles-”

“Is it Jackson? Did something happen to him? Like, something, wolf like? Maybe kanima like?”

“If you would listen-”

“Druids? Dread doctors? Witches, wizards? I mean, we’ve never had to deal with those before, but fuck man, with everything else we’ve done, I totally wouldn’t doubt it. Maybe we should call Kira and Malia? Maybe Liam? Derek?”

“Stiles!” Lydia snapped, her voice loud. He stood up tall, his hands moving from her shoulders and up to his sides in surrender. She couldn’t help but laugh, and Stiles and Scott looked at each other, confused. 

“Lydia, are you okay?” Scott asked, trying his best to be calm.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I’m fine, I promise, there’s no emergency. No werewolves.”

“Kanimas?” Stiles asked one more time. She shook her head.

“No, no kanimas. Jackson’s fine.” Stiles looked relieved, but also confused, and a little hurt. His tongue pushed around his cheek for a moment as he looked at her, as if trying to solve the puzzle on his own. When he couldn’t, he sighed exasperated. 

“Then what are you doing here?” Lydia didn’t miss a beat.

“I missed you.” Suddenly, his breath visibly quickened, his face a mix of emotion. Scott had a bit of a smirk, and she’d never wished more to be a werewolf than in that moment - to get to hear Stiles’ heartbeat, to smell his emotions. He was speechless for a while, and it made Lydia question herself; maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe he didn’t miss her back.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he finally started, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought this out, his hands already moving with his words. She loved that he talked with his hands. “You ran from your apartment, to mine, to tell me you miss me?”

“Actually, I was at a party, so I ran 14 blocks.”

“Okay, but you did that because you miss me?”

“Yes, Stiles, I miss you.” He was shaking his head, still trying to work this out.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He stepped closer to her again, waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you dreaming or something?” She shook her head, stepping into him, closing the gap between them even more. Without thinking, she put her hands on his waist, subconsciously steadying herself, and making sure he was real, that she wasn’t really dreaming. Stiles looked back at Scott. “Am I dreaming?” 

“I don’t think so buddy,” Scott said with a laugh. Stiles looked back at Lydia, his own heart pounding with hers. 

“Okay, but what the hell is going on? What happened to Jackson? Your career? Isn’t that why you left in the first place?” She rolled her eyes, a bit frustrated with his questions. He was supposed to just be happy she was there.

“Look Stilinski, we can have some intimate heart to heart about what’s going on in my messed up mind, or you can just kiss me, and we can work out the kinks later.” Stiles’ eyes widened, and he stood still for a moment, considering his options, before grabbing the backs of her arms and pulling her close, his lips landing furiously on hers without another word. 

And she suddenly felt like she knew who she was. She was Lydia Martin. And she was in love with Stiles Stilinski.


End file.
